


A Hero Comes Home

by anyothergirl415



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It goes about as well as to be expected and Dean Winchester has no expectations any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hero Comes Home

Dean was broken.

But then, he’d always been that way so why it should matter now he wasn’t really sure. Maybe because this time Sam noticed, Bobby noticed, little kids walking with their Mommy’s glanced his way and stared and Dean wondered if his face reflected Hell. Maybe it was painted on his skin, darkening his hair, deepening his voice, changing every piece of him bit by bit until the only person he was left trying to fool was himself. Everyone else already knew.

Dean was terrified.

That was likely to be expected given the circumstances. When his memory wasn’t there right away Dean thought it sucked, thought he’d give anything to _know_ what he’d gone through. When he remembered, he wished he could take it back. Remembering was the shit most awful thing, worse than digging out of his own grave. It was brittle and cold and cut into his flesh like sharp daggers. It was like when he was a kid and dreamed of the pain on his father’s face when he place baby Sammy in his arms and told him to run.

Dean was lost.

But he tried not to be. _God_ he tried so hard. All his life Dean had been this lost little boy but not really because he’d learned to hide it, bury it, stomp it away until it curled into the tight corner recesses of his mind and he could jus t _ignore_ it. This time it wasn’t working. It should have. Twenty nine years on the planet – give or take – and the art of pretending should have been something he mastered. It wasn’t working. That was unsettling. Sometimes Dean wondered if his father would be disappointed in the way he was slipping.

Sam was his brother.

As always, loyal and devoted but only in that way Sam could be. Loyal because he had to be. There because he fucking _had_ too. Of course it was always that way with them, always would be that way. Dean loved his brother, Sam loved him in return but sometimes… sometimes they both hated each other because there wasn’t really much of an option. They’d never say it. They’d never say a lot of things. Typical. Same old story. Didn’t matter anyway. Resentment occasionally carried hand in hand with thankfulness most often.

That worked for them.

It kind of had to. And they kept going because the life of a Winchester didn’t stop. Not until death. And hey, go figure even that didn’t even really make it stop. _Fucking angels_. So they kept driving, Dean kept breathing because that was what you did when you lived. He stuffed every little emotion, every little broken piece down to the very bottom of his soul. That was what Dean _did_.

Sam gave him knowing looks though.

Dean hated them. The knowing looks. Hated that his brother wore this high and mighty attitude like he _knew_ Dean. Wasn’t even a possibility, Dean didn’t even know himself. Dean was like a fucking Rubik’s cube – or some other ridiculous metaphor – and for some reason Sam thought he had it all figured out. The idea alone made Dean’s fingers twitch in annoyance.

It was kind of why it happened.

The whole, I’m weaker than they even know. Sam was researching, Dean was pretending that the fuzzy porn coming in intermittent spurts along the cable was still holding his interest. It didn’t. He’d been back for months. He’d never really left. He’d never be back at all.

“Huh, it’s snowing,” Sam mused over the hum and static burst of whimpers and moans. “Jesus, Dean, do you really have to watch that with me here?”

A quick scour of thoughts and Dean couldn’t really come up with a snarky enough comeback so he didn’t bother. Instead he rose and walked to the window and peered out at the snow. It was falling in big consistent flakes, grape sized and slanting in the breeze. Dean was compelled. In a weird way. In a way he hadn’t been drawn toward something since the first time he saw his dad’s collection of 22’s.

The door was slick and smooth beneath his palm and Dean stepped out into the cold before he even registered the hinges creaking. It was wet. It was hollow and broken and shattered and it took Dean several long moments to realize he was describing himself. To say Dean was transfixed was putting it lightly.

“Hey… Dean?” Sam whispered from the threshold, from the light and the heat and all those things Dean didn’t think he was good enough for anymore.

There wasn’t really much to say, no words to properly describe the level of destruction and decay rotting along his heart and sinking into his gut. Dean’s hand lifted and little white grape balls of fluffy snow met his palm and melted into almost there puddles. Dean knew if he stayed out long enough his skin would chill and the snowflakes would cover him and Dean could be blanketed. Like a snowman. A ridiculous, harsh, _oh shit my world is falling apart_ laugh tore from Dean’s lips and he stumbled forward into the snowfall.

“Dean, c’mon,” Sam was there in an instant. There by his side with love in his eyes. With hate in his eyes. Envy and pride and heartache and lust.

“Did you know I can see it all in your eyes? How you feel?” Dean met his gaze because there was no point in not now.

“Yeah I know, I can see it in your eyes too,” Sam nodded slowly.

And they held that locked gaze for one beat, two beats, three exhales and some invisible rope in Dean snapped and shattered.

Sam caught him moments before his knees could connect with white covered pavement. Thank god for that because Dean was already bruised and battered and wasn’t certain how much more he could take. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said in a whisper as they stepped back into the light. The words were too dark for it, Dean reached out for them, pulled them back but what was said was said.

Hurt flashed in his brother’s eyes, Dean wasn’t surprised, but he nodded and pulled him in close for a tight hug, arms digging into his shoulders and locking their chests together, “yeah I know. Sometimes I don’t want to be here anymore.”

It was nothing really perfect, and Dean didn’t really feel better, but knowing Sam occasionally felt the same helped him acknowledge that he at least wasn’t completely alone in the world. That was something. Enough. For right now. Dean at least could keep breathing through the night.  



End file.
